Tag: books

Save Your Heart for Me

Well, hello, Tuesday, how you doing this week? Yesterday wasn’t too bad. I was on social media more than I needed to be1, which I must correct, but I had a nice day at work and then ran errands on the way home. Paul was home shortly after I got home–I also left earlier than usual–and I grilled the hamburgers I didn’t last night, which was nice. We watched the last episode of Rivals–most excellent, highly recommend–and caught up on Someone Somewhere, which I also love. I wasn’t particularly tired when I got home last night, so I picked up some and read a bit more of my book, which I am loving, even as it also makes me squirm a bit (more on that later, when I write about the book)–and you know what? I should squirm while reading that book. Every white person should, but they won’t read it–or finish reading, if they start– because it might “make them feel bad.” Well, if you want to be a decent person…you need to do the fucking work and feel bad every once in a while. I think that’s the real truth: straight white people don’t want to completely understand how horrible they truly are–which is why they are so defensive all the time. They know they’re bad people, they just don’t want to face up to it, and so lean into being horrible.

And they sure as fuck don’t want to do the work to be better people, so why waste my time with them?

Hell, why am I bothering writing this book? We’re going to be all labeled as porn soon enough, and my publisher might be forced to close. And for the record, I know what it feels like to have your entire canon, your entire writing career, labeled and called pornography. I know what it feels like to get death threats. To paraphrase, there’s nothing as hellish as Christian love.

It’s raining again this morning, which is relaxing. I did sleep well again last night, which I was expecting to do, even though I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home. Today I am in the clinic working with people for the first time in a while, so we’ll see how that goes. I have to get myself back into counselor mode after an enormous (well, several of them) shock to my system…but I was able to counsel after Mom died, so I should be okay. I wonder what their mood will be like? I mean, we are entering the dark times. I think that’s why I wrote that Substack post; it was after the election that I realized that people who are casually homophobic like it’s no big deal aren’t going to step up to rescue queers when it comes to that, so…this is what minority people are talking about, straight white people–if you’re so callously dismissive of us and don’t care about that sort of thing, how can we truly ever believe we are allies? It’s a return to the 1980s again (which were not fucking great, no matter how the Reagan apologists try to make it seem like this glorious lost time; likewise the 1950s shit, too–those may have been good times for straight white people, but not so much for anyone else. And straight white people will always close ranks against outsiders, because ultimately their privilege is the most important thing to them. More important than outsiders…”others.” And sorry, I’m not here to make straight people feel better about themselves. You’re homophobes at heart and it’s not my responsibility to absolve you so you can feel better about yourself…I really don’t give a fuck about how you feel; why should I when you clearly don’t care a fucking thing about how you make us feel? “Oh, sorry if we turned Bouchercon back into your junior high school hellscape! You’ve survived it before, right? You’ll be fine.”

I never should have gone back after the initial homophobic experiences back in 2009-2010. I’ve given the crime fiction community so many chances, always thinking oh it’ll be better this time and optimistically tried again…but unlike Lucy and the football, this faggot Charlie Brown has finally learned to accept that it has failed me, repeatedly, over and over again, and talk about diversity and inclusion is just that–talk. I’m no more welcome in the mainstream mystery community than I was in 20022. That old cliché about how trying the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is insanity?

Well, now I am sane and clear-eyed.

When I tried again this last time, I refused to be chased away the second time because I’ve tried, as an adult, to always stand up to, and fight, the bullies. I hate giving them the satisfaction of admitting defeat finally, but you can only try so hard for so long before realizing that any win for me in this regard would always be Pyrrhic in nature. I’ve never, ever be able to completely relax or feel welcome or made to feel like a part of things, like I belonged. I used to think it was because I was so scarred from my past, and that it was entirely on me and not anything anyone else was doing to make me feel that way. I convinced myself we were welcome.

So, so naive and trusting that this time would be different.

I should have known from seeing friends do book events in stores run by homophobes and racists but then claim to be allies. How big of an ally are you when you talk the talk but launch your book in a store known to be unashamedly homophobic, misogynist, and racist? What message do you think you are sending to people who you claim to support until it comes to your money and your career? How you “don’t want to rock the boat”? It’s called collaboration, and after the Second World War you’d have been executed or at least your head shaved and a public shaming. But–at least in our brave new world you won’t have to pretend to care anymore.

This is why minorities don’t trust you, you know. You can blithely go through your life smugly patting yourself on the back about what an ally you are, how you definitely talk the talk so people know you’re one of the good guys, but guess how we feel when you announce your book launch at one of those stores? We see you, but most of the time we’re too nice to call you out for supporting stores that hate us. Miss me with your boycotts of Home Depot and Walmart and whoever; it’s all just performative bullshit when you really only care about yourself–and you’ll shop there if you think no one will ever find out.

And for the record, telling a minority writer “you’d be so successful if you’d just write about straight people” is condescending, invalidating and deeply offensive. You think I can’t write about straight people? Bitch, please. I understand you people better than you understand yourselves. Believe me, I see you.

And no worries if I’m boring you with all this, Constant Reader. I’m giving you straight people the okay to stop reading this blog, without judgment. It’s a queer space, and I care about your feelings as much as you care about mine.

Then again, you’re probably not reading this anyway? Straight people won’t read me for free, let alone pay for something I’ve written. Christ, what a fucking fool I’ve been.

But give me another day or two and things will go back to normal. I’ll be over it, and not to worry; none of this will ever come up again because I will never be hurt by betrayals from straight people–especially men–ever again. I’ll just expect y’all to be homophobic garbage from the start. It’ll be easier that way–and like I always used to say, you can always count on straight people to carelessly, casually and thoughtlessly cruel…because you don’t matter to them. You’re subhuman. You‘ve heard the things white people say about racialized people–well, that’s also what they all think about queer people.

All these years I’ve smiled and let you demean and dehumanize me, over and over again, with a smile on your face as you performatively act like I’m a colleague when you really are disgusted by my existence.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows.

  1. In fairness to me, I was enjoying the “find out” phase the Nazi voters are experiencing. But if your feelings are hurt, MAGAts, no worries–we’ll probably all be dead by the 2025 holiday season so you can gloat to your heart’s content, guilt-free! ↩︎
  2. When mystery bookstores wouldn’t let me sign in their stores because “they don’t carry those kinds of books”–which is why I will always be grateful, and loyal, to Murder by the Book in Houston–to this day, the only mystery bookstore in the country that would have events for me. ↩︎

Eight Days a Week

I guess this will be the last Veterans’ Day, since going forward it will be renamed Suckers and Losers Day, right?

It’s Monday morning in the Lost Apartment and I am up early. My vacation is over and I am going back to the office. It’s going to be weird; it feels already like I’ve not been there in eons. But going back to the normal routine after a very restful (if stressful) vacation was inevitable. I had a nice day yesterday, in which I got some things done and made groceries, before Paul and I settled in for an evening of Abbott Elementary and Rivals–both of which I love– and we’ll be finishing Rivals tonight. I’m glad to be back home in New Orleans, and I slept very well last night. I didn’t really want to get up this morning because the bed was so comfortable, but Im not groggy this morning, so that’s a big win for me. I feel rested, which is the point of time off, and ready to face my week and whatever demons are thrown into my path this week. There’s always, sadly, a few.

I also spent some more time with Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory yesterday, and it is truly an exquisitely written and incredibly powerful story. It’s also heartbreaking in its truth about what life was like in Jim Crow Florida for Black people, and it’s a very stinging indictment of whiteness and the false promise of this country. I keep thinking ah yes this is what they mean by make America great again–a return to this kind of disgusting societal norm1s. I will write more about it when I finish savoring it, but I felt it needed to be brought up right now–I am not even waiting for me to finish this book to tell people they need to read it. I started listening to it in the car–the audiobook narration is completely en pointe–and continued reading in physical form when I got home this weekend. It really is superb, and I can see why it was (is?) so acclaimed and it definitely deserved every award it won. Due is going onto my ‘must-read’ list; I’m just sorry it took me this long to dip into her canon.

But after that I think I am going to read a crime novel. I have a shit ton of them in my TBR stack, and with my time on social media being dramatically curtailed going forward (I succumbed to the trap yesterday more than I should have; bad Greg, bad Greg), I should have time to read every night. Tonight I am going to pick up the mail on the way home, and I am going to cook out–it rained all day yesterday–and I’ll read some more while I do that (and clean up the kitchen more). Thanksgiving will be here before we know it, and that’ll be another lovely long weekend. I also decided this past week that this will be the last year I’ll skip Thanksgiving; it’ll mean a lot to my sister to have me there. Dad didn’t go last year (it’s really a Mom holiday), but he might go this year. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have either Dad or my sister, so I should spend as much time with them as I can while I still can. Morbid, yes, but my reality. And yes, since the election I’ve been much more aware of how little time I may have left here.

My new mantra, by the way, is fuck your feelings (see caption on picture), and I am not dialing anything back anymore. What good did being a pick-me gay ever do for me? I’m actually kind of sickened by how much of a ‘pick me’ loser I’ve been for so long in the crime fiction community. My Substack essay? Wasn’t even the fucking tip of the iceberg.

And you know what? DO you have any idea of how many straight “allies” let that kind of shit fly because it doesn’t affect them in the least, and well, if a queer is listening, that’s on them to say something. I can recall exactly ONE time in the last fifteen years when some straight white asshole decided to use the word faggy in front of me at the table in the bar where we were sitting. He smirked and looked right at me when he said it, too; he knew what he was saying and was testing me to see what I’d do or say; in other words, he put his little shriveled dick on the table and dared me to say something to him. As I burned and counted to ten before punching him in his smug smirking face, Lisa Lutz stuck her finger in his face and said, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. We don’t use that word, ever.”

And I will be grateful to her for the rest of my life.

I do find it amusing how many straight men have no clue how close they’ve come to getting punched in the face.

None of this stuff makes me angry anymore; it’s how things are, and I’ve come to the realization that straight white people are never going to change. They are always going to be entitled, selfish monsters who will always convince themselves they were the real victims. “Well, we wouldn’t have had to kill all those Natives if they hadn’t fought back” or “if they hadn’t massacred that white settlement”. If anything, they were too kind to the colonizers. That’s what happens when you give straight white people the benefit of the doubt–it somehow always ends up in genocide.

And on that cheerful note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and never worry–I’ll be here for as long as I can be!

I used to worry about offending straight people by making lewd comments on these pictures, but nobody made you come here, so fuck off. And this picture just needs to be captioned “taste the rainbow.”
  1. For you white people who haven’t thought this through–no offense, but I am sure it’s most of you–when you ask, smugly, who’ll do the menial jobs when everyone is deported? They told us already–those are “Black jobs.” What else did you think they meant? Now do that math. How are they going to get Black people to do that work? Now you’re on the right track. ↩︎

Cool Water

It was lovely getting back into reading last week, and it’s amazing to me how I will just wave off doing things I enjoy; it’s more apparent now than ever that one of the things I need to do is schedule reading time for every week. I am very behind on my reading (always have been) and have been relatively successful at limiting my book purchases this year until I’ve made some more significant progress is working down the TBR pile. I didn’t read as much horror in October as I would have liked, so I was determined to read some more this past week, at least the ones I had planned.

And I am really glad I took The Chill with me to read on the trip.

Molly packed a black silk bag that could be worn as a hood, because she did not want her eyes to open again until she was back in Galesburg.

The bag was soft and lovely but it was also thick and dark, a stronger shield than the burlap sack or simple white pillowcase that she’d considered. And a kinder shield than the black garbage bag.

She put the silk bag inside her purse beside the pools of heavy saltwater fishing line and the long stainless steel hooks. The iron chains and padlock were already hidden on the bluff above the lake.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of towns being flooded when dams are built to create reservoirs; Lake Lanier in Georgia is one of those places, and it seems like several times of year that lake claims victims, in vengeance for a black town that was destroyed because hey, who cares what Black people own when white people want the land, right? I’ve always had an amorphous idea about writing such a book, but was never really sure how to go about structuring such a novel. I digress.

Anyway, I was pretty excited when I realized that was what this book was about. I am big fan of his writing under both Carson and his actual name; I’ve loved everything he’s written that I’ve read and think he’s probably one of the greatest crime/horror writers that we have today. He is such a literate writer, and I love that he doesn’t mind writing about supernatural events in crime thrillers, really. God, he is so good.

Galesburg was such a town in upstate New York, flooded and abandoned when the Chilewaukee dam was built to create Lake Chilewaukee; known as The Chill to local residents. But the reservoir, intended to be part of the water system delivering water to new York City, was never connected to the rest of the system. The story was that the kind of rock in the mountain they’d have to tunnel through to make the connection wasn’t the right kind of rock for tunneling through and therefore that plan was abandoned (one of the things I really loved about this book was all the research Carson did on New York’s water system, and the engineering marvels created to do so).

The book centers on a few main characters; a reservoir police officer, the local sheriff, and the local sheriff’s ne’er-do-well son, whom he loves but is losing patience with. The book opens with him heading to the jail to bail out his son, arrested for his latest drug and alcohol binge. The son feels like a loser that his father doesn’t love or understand; he spent his entire life dreaming of being a Coast Guard rescue swimmer, but was dishonorably discharged and his been adrift ever since returning home. He doesn’t have a job, doesn’t cre about anyone or anything, and is on a downward spiral that easily could end with his own death–being older now, I can see the father’s side of it, even as a child who always felt he was never believed about anything and was always at fault; but I can also see that, as a man of his generation, he has no idea how to talk to his son and get him to open up about what young Aaron feels is the waste of his life; but worry and concern often interferes with getting your point across with love and compassion when you’re feeling frustrated.

The other two characters are a father and daughter; the daughter being the afore-mentioned reservoir cop. The father, Deshawn, actually works for the city of New York on digging a third water tunnel for New York, so that the others can be taken out of service and repaired for the first time in over a hundred years. His daughter, Gillian, was born out of a summer relationship he had up there in Torrance; he got spooked eventually, and while he supported her, he never visited or had her come visit. After her mother’s death, her grandmother raised her until she sacrifices herself in the opening chapter; why, we don’t know. Deshawn brought Gillian to New York and raised her; they love each other and are very close. Gillian took the job up there because of her own confusion about her past and this strange pull she has toward the lake that submerged Galesburg…which is where her mother’s family originally were from.

I also appreciated all the information about the water system and the engineering marvels that made it all possible; my dad was an engineer, and the work they do is amazing and often unsung; we take their achievements for granted and never think about them.

The book is also paced like a runaway train. I stayed up till two in the morning to finish it, and it was marvelous. Check it out; you won’t be sorry. And check out his other work as well.

Winds of Change

It was weird reading Gabino Iglesias’ latest, House of Bone and Rain, for any number of reasons that had nothing to do with the quality of the book. I was reading it when that “comedian” called Puerto Rico “a floating pile of garbage” (not that it mattered); while writing my own book, also set during a hurricane; and was thinking about writing another supernatural thriller about teenagers. This book is set in Puerto Rico before, during, and after a hurricane, and the main characters are teenagers. Serendipity? Synchronicity? An interesting series of events? I’m not sure if it’s anything other than a lovely coincidence, but there it is. I also really loved Gabino’s previous novel, the award-winning and critically acclaimed The Devil Takes You Home, which was exceptional, and had my appetite whetted for a follow up.

It says a lot about an author so good they make me overlook things I generally don’t like to read about–machismo, violence–because they are able to turn those things into art.

The last day of classes, our last day as high school students, marked a new era for us. We wanted it. we feared it. We had plans for it. Then Bimbo’s mom hit the sidewalk with two bullet holes in her face, and the blood drowned out all those plans.

Bimbo called to tell us the day after it happened. His real name was Andrés, but we mostly called him Bimbo because he was brown and chubby and looked like the mascot bear of a brand of cookies. It’s normal for people to report the death of a parent. Old age. Cancer. A heart attack. Whatever. Old people die and we expect it, accept it even. It’s normal. Murder is different. Murder is a monster that chews up whatever expectations you had regarding death and spits them in your face. Murder is an attack on someone’s life, yes, but also an attack on those left behind.

When Bimbo called to tell me about the death of his mother, María, I felt attacked. “They shot my mom, man.” Five words about the recent past that were heavy enough to crush out future.

It says a lot about an author so good they make me overlook things I generally don’t like to read about–machismo, violence–because they are able to turn those things into art. I generally don’t like to read about extreme violence, with bones crunching, blood spurting, and teeth flying. Because I do actually abhor the use of violence1, it’s very hard for me to relate to characters who turn to violence for whatever reason; it’s not easy to ever make me think yes, this is the right path. Violence and rage are very dark places to go, and while I completely understand embracing your rage, I will vent it a bit so it calms down before I go there. But Iglesias is the kind of writer who can pull a squeamish reader along the path of male rage and violence, which is emotion-driven rather than logical.

The book centers a group of five young friends who have just graduated from high school, and the brotherhood they develop by uniting as a group and fighting off everyone else; it’s very Three Musketeers-like; “anyone fucks with one of us, they fuck with all of us.” Iglesias also provides enough back story to make each character an individual–not easy to do with so many characters–as well as the group dynamic and why, despite any internal squabbling, they always try to present a united front on this dark odyssey of revenge and violence. Gabe, our narrator, is kind of at loose ends at the opening of the book and not knowing what he wants to do with his life. He has a girlfriend he genuinely cares about and wants to build a life with, who wants to move to the mainland and go to nursing school–and wants him to come with…but his own ties to Puerto Rico, including his mother, make it hard for him to make the choice. What if he does and it doesn’t work out? What will he do then? He is transitioning from callow youth into manhood at far too young an age, but…that’s what life is like for people living under colonization.2

Gabe is also the conscience of the story–if there can actually be one. He goes along with his brothers to get revenge for Bimbo’s mother’s murder, which puts them afoul of a drug cartel (seriously, who sets out to kill the head of a murderous criminal cartel?), but there’s also something else going on…there’s some supernatural elements involved with the cartel as well that either could just be gossipy stories to scare people into obedience, or might just be real.

The book barrels along at an excellent pace–the length of time it took for me to get through it had nothing to do with the quality; I was trying to savor it because I was enjoying the voice and the writing so much. It’s also very vivid and real; Iglesias writes in such a way that puts you right there in the room with the characters–and always, there’s this foreboding sense that time is running out for the boys, and not all of them may make it to the end.

An excellent mash-up of horror, crime, and noir stylings, I have to say this is terrific, so check it out.

  1. Ain’t going to lie, there’s a part of my brain that does think that those who commit violence should get it back, repeatedly and far worse, than they dealt. ↩︎
  2. After the Puerto Rico garbage insult, people thought Puerto Rico should become a state; which I found amusing. No, they should be granted their independence from their final colonizers and paid reparations. Who says statehood in a racist country is desirable for them? ↩︎

Baby the Rain Must Fall

Up far earlier than usual on a Sunday morning1, because of course, later on today I am driving to Kentucky. Twelve hours in the car, but I’ve figured out what to listen to on the drive, which is cool. I don’t know what traffic is going to be like, but that’s cool; I am also going to go a different way than I usually do–going thru Nashville instead of the nightmare that is always Chattanooga–so that will be interesting.

I was very tired yesterday morning, the way I always am on Saturday, but I got errands done and then came home to work on the house and get ready for today. We mostly watched football all day before going to bed; starting with Vanderbilt-Auburn (Auburn lost) and Mississippi-Arkansas, then Georgia-Florida, capping the night off with South Carolina’s big win over Texas A&M. The SEC is indeed crazy this season; it almost seems like no one wants to win it all this year. Now, all the one-loss and two-loss teams are going to continue knocking each other off the rest of the season, which is wild. LSU still has a chance, but they have to win out…and that won’t be easy (Alabama, Florida, Oklahoma, and Vanderbilt remain on the schedule). Interesting season, this first year of super-conferences and paying players and a play-off, hasn’t it been? All in all, a very nice, relaxing day was had by everyone in the Lost Apartment, including demon kitty Sparky–who turned himself into a love bug for the entire day. I’ve not yet packed or loaded up the car–I got up early this morning to do that specifically, as well as to add to the “I’m really tired so will sleep well tonight” feeling when I get there tonight. I’ll also be on the road for the Saints game today, so GEAUX SAINTS and I hope they do well.

It’ll be nice spending some time with Dad, resting and relaxing and reading. I don’t know if he’ll want to go do things–like sight-see historical sites in the area (I am not going to the Ark, rest assured of that)–or if we’ll end up just sitting around chatting and watching television. The weather will be similar up there to what we’re having down here, which is great as I don’t want to take a coat with me, either. I decided to finish listening to Gabino’s book in the car on the way up, move on to The Reformatory, finish reading it over the week, and then listen to Shadowlands in the car on the way home, so I can finish reading it when I get home Friday. I have a lovely weekend when I get home before I have to go back to work, and then of course it’s only a few more weeks to Thanksgiving. Paul is probably going to visit his mom for the holiday, which will give me a long weekend alone at home with Sparky, which could be a lot of fun.

And of course, once I get home from this trip I need to really get back to work on the book and everything else around here that I want to get finished by the end of the year. I need to do some research on actual hurricanes (as well as the ones that have hit New Orleans over the centuries, including from before when they got names), and I hope to spend some time brainstorming on the book’s plot. I know I want it to shift direction several times, but I am still not sure of how everything comes together and why, which is part of the fun ohf writing these types of novels, isn’t it?

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely day, Constant Reader, and I don’t know how much I’ll be here posting this week, so hang in there without me, okay? MAKE SURE YOU VOTE.

  1. But not as early as it usually feels, thank you for the extra hour this morning, Daylight Savings Time. ↩︎

Go Now

Ah, Sunday morning and the last day of relaxation before I return to work tomorrow, and of course next weekend I am driving up to Kentucky. That’ll be nice, if exhausting–I never sleep enough when I travel–but I’ll get to see my sister and spend time with Dad, which is always nice. I’ll get to listen to books in the car, and read some while I am up there. I doubt I’ll write anything; or even edit much. I should just accept that in advance since it never happens, and I’ll have my journal with me and the laptop if the urge should strike. That should be enough, don’t you think? I know I certainly do.

Yesterday was kind of a flat day. I ran my errands and came home to watch football games, and was pretty tired. I did end up getting some chores done around watching games, but not much of anything. I did read some, too, between games. About the best game of the day was Texas-Vanderbilt; Alabama seems to have righted their ship at last, Auburn finally notched a win, and LSU lost last night at Texas A&M. They played great in the first half and then just crumbled in the second, and it was mostly the offense and the kicking team that cost the Tigers the game. But good for you, Aggies–your rivalry renewal game with Texas over Thanksgiving just became super-important. We don’t play again until November 9th, when Alabama comes to Baton Rouge, and we’ll see how and if the ship gets righted that night. I can’t remember the last time the two played where both had two losses coming into the game…I cooked out last night and that turned out well, and I did get some things done yesterday. There’s a few dishes in the sink and of course, the floors…but mostly today I think I am going to focus on writing and reading the most. I want to work on the Scotty Bible today and I want to revisit the manuscript completely, and of course there are short stories and essays to be worked on, as always. So, once I finish this I’m going to go read for a while with my coffee, and then get cleaned up and get to work on writing. Exciting!

I do want to start the week with the apartment cleaned, for one thing.

Yesterday I was thinking–during the dull Alabama-Missouri game–about projects I want to work on and the things I want to get done over the course of the next year, until 2026. It’s an ambitious slate, to be sure, and does require me to actually focus and work rather than blow everything off and spent time with Sparky, who gets sweeter and sweeter every day. He’s finally started cuddling and sleeping with us downstairs while we watch television–he’ll sleep on Paul before moving over to me in the chair–and of course, every morning he gets into bed with me (because he’s hungry) and is kind of a snooze button/alarm that I much prefer to the clanging of the actual one. I need to research hurricanes, too, because I am writing about one, so it doesn’t hurt to actually research and find out a basic overview of them so I can write about it in the book. I do think this Scotty could easily turn out to be the best of the bunch, frankly. Which is a nice feeling to have, I don’t remember feeling that way with the last two, but at the same time I also wrote the last two maybe five years apart? That’s kind of crazy, because I really should at most space them a year and a half apart, which I’ve not done in well over a decade. Kind of nuts, isn’t it? I’d say so. That’s no way to write a series, is it? I don’t know. I probably don’t care all that much, either. I’ve never been terribly smart about my writing career, mainly because my primary driver is the writing itself. I love writing, even when I complain about it, but it’s my primary source of joy in this life.

This week I have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday, with a podiatrist to see about my pronating feet and what is up with the pain in my big toes. It’s not always and it’s not bad enough to make me limp, but it is noticeable. I also noticed when I was pushing the cart around the grocery store yesterday that my hips were sore and hurting, which means time for a new pair of shoes. I should probably get that checked out as well, but it is most likely a side effect from my feet and their pronation. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’d need to have them (the hips, not my feet) replaced at some point over the next five years or so. My new glasses should come in as well, which will be great. I’m hoping they come in before I leave for Kentucky, because I got transition lenses because bright light and glare have become really painful for me, and that will help me on the drive up. I also think I am going to be brave and go up a different way, skipping Chattanooga by going north on I-65 at Birmingham to go through Nashville instead. That’s a better route for me; there’s a lot more places to eat and get gas between Birmingham and Nashville than there are between Birmingham and Chattanooga. I can always come back the normal way–I do want to get a look at the rest stops on 75 for a short story that I think I’ve finally figured out–which never seems to be as bad as going, you know?

And on that note, I need to get another cup of coffee and have breakfast and get cleaned up this morning so I can have a good, productive day. I hope you have a marvelous Sunday, too, Constant Reader, and I’ll chat with you again probably a little later.

Baby I’m Yours

Remote Friday, in which I get to work at home! Woo-hoo! I kind of slept later this morning than usual, but I was also very tired yesterday. I went to my appointments, and by the time I got home from that running around I was worn down. I got a new prescription for my glasses, ordered a new pair which should arrive next week, and also saw the dermatologist. I have two more appointments to go over the next week before those are all out of the way (I’ll also have to fast and do labs before I leave for Kentucky.) I have on-line trainings to do for working at home today–I’ll start on those once I finish this and a second cup of coffee, and maybe eat some breakfast, and I also have a lot of cleaning up to do around here after I finish working. I also am planning on walking to city hall this afternoon to vote, because I understand the assignment. I also read more of Gabino’s book, which I am enjoying and savoring, and hope to get that finished this weekend. I also found my paperback of Shadowland, so I can go ahead and listen to it on my way north week after next. That is exciting, even if it will be after Halloween and Halloween Horror Month will technically be complete…but I also didn’t get to read as much this month as I would have liked, so I don’t have a problem with my horror reading spilling over into November. I think after that I am going to make an effort to read for at least an hour every night when I get home from work; I really need to get back into my love of reading, which has always sustained me for most of my life.

I also like my dermatologist, and we’re going to explore more treatment options for my psoriasis. He also shot up my elbows with some steroids to try to clear up those nasty patches of it that never go away. He did say I had minor psoriasis–which was another shot at my egocentrism; the four or five small patches on my body are nothing, really; most people have even more than that, and it’s not really considered a major problem if it’s less than fifty percent of your skin? I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids, so I’m not entirely certain I heard everything correctly. I also have to go back in a month to see how the steroid shots (some were nothing, some hurt like a motherfucker) worked, and possibly get more of them. Now that I’m older and somewhat smarter, I am using my health insurance instead of “saving” it for some ungodly reason. I was thinking about this very thing last night–how little of my adult life I’ve actually had health insurance, and how little I’ve used it once I secured it–and needing to get all of these things checked out. I am seeing a podiatrist this coming week to see if there’s anything that can be done about my feet’s pronation and the collapsed arches and so forth. I don’t want ankle replacements–knees or hips, either–but this is to see also whether I have arthritis in my big toes, too. (I have ignored my feet for far too long as an adult as well, but that’s more of a story for an essay about insurance and its importance and how it really needs more regulation than it currently has, along with insurance horror stories.)

Better late than never, right?

Paul was also late getting home last night, so I spent some quality time as a kitty bed last night in my chair for Sparky, who is getting more and more cuddly as he gets older. I spent most of the evening alternating between college football coverage and news clips; I am so much happier now that I’ve blocked the legacy media from my socials and deleted Twitter from my life. I don’t spend as much time on social media as I used to, and that maybe is the best thing that has come from the murder of Twitter; my social media addiction is far less urgent and far less important and much easier to think meh why bother? It’s really not a bad thing, and blocking everyone who is ignorant or trolling on the social media I have left is a godsend. I don’t need to know what the right is saying or doing; there’s no cellar for them to reach in their race to the bottom. Do I need to know Tucker Carlson’s creepy child spanking fantasies? No. I don’t need to know what he or his team are saying or doing to know that he’s a threat to the country and to the Republic, and the cognitive dissonance from the ‘patriots’ who also seem to hate their country–how can you be a patriot and have such flagrant contempt for your government and country? They want to elect a dictator, but they’re the real Americans. That kind of stupidity should hurt, you know?

And yes, part of the reason I want to walk to City Hall to vote today is because the Swifties have taken over New Orleans for the Eras Tour, which has three (!) shows this weekend at the Superdome. Friendship bracelets are draped over the Dome, which is totally amazing, and the Swifties have such good energy, can you blame me for wanting to be in the midst of this, and see how the CBD has done itself up for the weekend to welcome them? There were a lot of them posting about their trips down here for the shows on social media and how excited they were to not only see her but to do it during Halloween season in New Orleans? Chef’s kiss, no notes. The walk will undoubtedly wear me out, but that’s fine and I definitely could use the exercise as I try to will myself back into better physical condition. Tomorrow I’ll make groceries and clean and read and watch football games. I did get most of the dishes done last night, and need to clean out the refrigerator today at some point. I’m kind of looking forward to this last weekend of peace and quiet and writing and reading and college football–and getting caught up on our shows tonight. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never knows.

There really is nothing sexier than black underwear.

The Jolly Green Giant

Professional Development Monday blog, in which the office is closed while we do some continuing education and team activities. The place we are meeting this morning is actually pretty close to the house, maybe six blocks or so away? I also don’t have to be there until nine, which means I can leave the house around twenty till or so. I’m not entirely sure how the day is going to go or how taxing it might be, or what time I’ll be done and home for the day, either. I feel decent this morning; I could have gladly slept longer this morning but got up at the same time I usually do on Mondays. (I wasn’t sure what time we had to be there, so I got up so I could look it up and yes, was right about it starting at nine, but oh, well.) I need to reset my body clock after the weekend anyway.

Yesterday was a nice, relaxing day. I got the dishes and the kitchen cleaned (finally) and made the chili. I also spent some time with House of Blood and Rain, which is extraordinary, primarily because it’s a lot of things that I generally don’t enjoy, and avoid a lot when making my reading choices (more on that when I’ve finished reading it at last). We watched Grotesquerie, which had a rather odd episode and we weren’t sure if that was the season finale or not, but a search on-line this morning revealed there are three more, two coming next week and the finale on the day before Halloween. We also watched another episode of Only Murders in the Building, which was fun, and we also watched a lot of Skate America before watching our shows. I should have probably written more than I did this weekend, but it’s fine. I’ll do some tonight after work, and hopefully get a chance to read as well. I am most likely going to leave for Kentucky either this weekend or the one after; I haven’t really decided yet.

It’s been a bit of an off kind of spooky season for me this year. I am reading horror, as I had wanted to, but am a little disappointed at how slow my reading is going this year, but I should get some good reading done while I am at Dad’s; I am kind of leaning towards going the weekend after, to be honest; I kind of feel like I need to get through this week and another weekend before I head up north. I also keep getting confused because LSU usually plays Alabama the first weekend of November, and this year it’s a week later because of how the weeks and days fall; so I keep thinking the bye week is this weekend but it’s not. LSU plays A&M Saturday in a night game, then has the weekend off before playing Alabama. I also have a lot of doctor’s appointments, too, that I have to figure out. I have two this Thursday so I’ll need to take time off that day; I may try to get the one scheduled for the following week rescheduled to the same day, or move it further back. That’s why I need to get this figured out, either today or tomorrow. Heavy heaving sigh.

Now that I’m waking up I feel a lot better this morning. I’ll probably go ahead and shower once I finish this, and then I can read for the rest of the morning until it’s time to leave for the training/Development Day. So exciting, right? Sparky also continues to be a bit on the sullen side about his claws being trimmed back, but I did pick him up and put him on my shoulders and he was fine up there without needing them to dig into my skin to stay up there, so that was a win-win. (I also think going back to the vet’s gave him flashbacks of his pre-adoptive life, which he didn’t appreciate, either.) I think I’ll decide about my trip over the course of the day, and make my decision. This weekend seems awful soon to take the time off already, so I am definitely leaning toward the weekend of the 2nd of November, LSU’s bye week. I can watch games on that Saturday, get up and drive on Sunday, and can drive home on Friday. That just makes the most sense to me; it gives me this weekend to get my shit together for the trip and get the apartment into some semblance of order before I leave, and it’ll be easier–much easier–with an extra week to get it all together.

And now I am waking up enough to feel like oh yes I need to get my life back on track after this lazy weekend, and so, on that note, it’s time for me to head into the spice mines for the day and get my act together, so have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you later.

I Know a Place

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. I slept incredibly last night. I woke up at seven and stayed in bed relaxing in a half-sleep for another hour or so, and finally got up when Sparky woke up and decided he was hungry. He was delayed this morning–and was very calm and cuddly and sleepy yesterday–because of the vaccines he got yesterday, as well as the shock to his system of leaving the apartment. He likes his carrier–he’ll go in there on his own, and Paul often tells him to go get in the crate when he’s having Big Kitten Energy, which he does–but he finally started meowing yesterday when we took him outside in the crate. He’s never meowed before, only chirped, which worried me a bit…but now he’s done it so I guess he only meows when he’s unhappy. His nails were trimmed (which he also didn’t like this time), but we brought him home to be a sleepy, cuddly sweet kitty for the rest of the night. We also went to Costco yesterday, which was nice and a little tiring. We watched Skate America last night (ladies and pairs short programs) and of course, today is a football all day kind of day. LSU plays at Arkansas tonight, and of course Alabama-Tennessee is this afternoon’s game. I am going to take books to the library sale this morning and go to the grocery store today before I come home to watch games for the rest of the day. There’s also some cleaning I can do around here this morning, too. Yippee!

I’m also going to read some more of Gabino’s book this morning; I read some while Sparky and Paul were with the vet yesterday and I just love the way he writes, in this interesting combination of Jim Thompson crossed with some John D. MacDonald but heavily flavored and filtered through his own remarkable talent in a unique voice that is entirely his own. It’s very rare to come across a writer with a voice and style so strikingly original, and the pacing is ethereal but also fast at the same time. I loved his last book, and I am absolutely loving this own. Next weekend I’ll be heading up to Kentucky to see Dad for about a week, so I can listen to another horror novel in the car (maybe Shadowland by Peter Straub, which I’ve not read before. I can take the paperback with me if the audio book is too long for a twelve hour drive; I actually just went to Audible and got Nick Cutter’s The Troop, and saw that I had a Riley Sager already downloaded, so that’s the trip up and back sorted. I also got the Straub), and I can take some horror with me to read. I’ll make shrimp tempura for dinner tonight, and am kind of torn about making chili or not tomorrow, but will probably go ahead and do so; I may even make it over night so tomorrow morning I can just get up and put it in the refrigerator. That’ll sort my lunches for the week, methinks.

I also managed to get the majority of the dishes done yesterday, no small feat I might add. That’ll teach me to be lazy when I get home from work every day, won’t it? It seemed endless, and I was also doing the bed linens at the same time as well as unpacking Costco and putting everything away; the living room is, even now, filled with empty boxes that need to go out this morning. I need to revise that short story and start working on another one for the Bouchercon anthology open call; I picked out the story just have to finish it now, which is also no easy chore. But today is an official day off from everything other than relaxation, reading and some cleaning around the house. I’ll try to reread the story I’ve selected; I just need to remember to channel my rage at developments in the neighborhood and on my street–this is one of the reasons I love being a writer, petty revenge on people who’ll never even know they inspired me to kill them in fiction–and retrieve that voice from deep inside my head. I think one of the problems I’ve had with some of the stories I’ve been writing lately is I’ve been too lazy to write about people the way they really are, instead of an idealized character who is logical and rational and then simply snaps. It’s that breakdown of going from law-abiding to murderous that I live to explore–it worked really well in “Neighborhood Alert”–but in some of the noirish stories I’ve been trying to write and sell since the pandemic they come across as too cheerful; bitterness and rage is what drives my stories, and the tone and voice need to reflect that.

Tone and voice are key to whether your story works or not.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later. GEAUX TIGERS!

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Game of Love

Thursday morning and I forgot to set my alarm last night; oh my! Bad Gregalicious; bad Gregalicious! I did run my errands last night after I got off work, but by the time I got home I was more tired than I expected. I intended to do the dishes at the very least, if nothing else, and sure enough, I sat down in my chair to catch up on the news and let Sparky treat me like prey (my entire body is covered in scabs), but relaxed so deeply that when Paul came downstairs–he was home and I didn’t know it–to watch some television, I was all fuck it and blew everything off. We watched this week’s English Teacher, which isn’t as funny as it initially was? Paul agreed with me, so it’s not just me being hypercritical of a show with a gay male lead–which is always my fear. The representation is great, but I am not sure if I’m missing something, or if it is the show itself. Something for me to think about, I guess, in greater length once the season is over and we can reflect on it as a whole, rather than just as individual episodes. It’s a very fine line–you don’t want to idealize a marginalized character, but at the same time the series lead has to be likable and relatable; which is a problem because you run the risk of castrating him–and this character has a MUCH healthier sex-life than Will Truman ever had in all those many seasons of Will and Grace. we also watched an episode of American Horror Stories, which was creepy and disturbing, but at least it was interesting. The show reminds me of the great old anthology shows, like Tales from the Crypt and Night Gallery1, and yes, some episodes are better than others.

So tonight, obviously, I need to write some and clean up the house before my work-at-home day tomorrow. I know we’re planning on a Costco run, so I am going to need to do some serious work on the apartment to get ready for that. I also need to finish the desk chair, which is sitting, unassembled, in front of the fireplace–and there are any number of things in the living room that need to be gotten rid of. I have to take the boxes of books to the library sale Saturday; and I also need to start boxing up the books in the kitchen cupboards and moving them up to the attic, which also needs to be cleaned out. I need to work on the book this weekend, and maybe do some serious decision-making; I also need to work on polishing that short story and revising/finishing another by the end of the month. I feel a bit out of it this morning–the oversleeping didn’t help matters much by throwing off my daily rhythm, but I was wide awake when I got up finally, and I managed to not forget anything on my way out of the house. This should be a relatively easy and uneventful day at the office, and my supervisor will be back on Monday, thank you Jesus and pass the ammunition.

Wish me luck on all of that, please. I also need to make a to-do list for this weekend. There are some great football games on Saturday; LSU at Arkansas, Alabama at Tennessee, for starters. I’ll definitely need to run my Saturday morning errands early! I also need to read Gabino’s book; I hope I’m not giving the wrong impression–it’s nothing to do with the book, but more along the lines of being too tired to focus to read once I’ve done everything I’ve needed to get done every day. I am feeling better, getting more restful sleep, and I think I’ve adjusted to getting up early, little as I like to do so, but I always have that little rundown in the afternoon when I get overwhelmed with being tired…but it’s usually low blood sugar or something, because a snack will rev me back up again.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Thursday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. It’ll be a surprise!

  1. I remember watching Night Gallery as a child and loving it; I wasn’t able to catch reruns of The Twilight Zone until many years later; so to me, I always think Night Gallery when I think about Rod Serling, whose daughter I met and she was absolutely charming. ↩︎